


Among Florists and Artists

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Hell, Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Kisses, M/M, Trans Male Character, afab sock 4 lyfe., ha! gayyyy, i dare u to try and fuckin stop me, there is a lot of flirting, trans headcanon, trans sock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ah yes, this classic au. one of my favorites, honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski, or as he had his friends call him, Sock, was an artist. He was able to create gorgeous pictures, lovely images that would stick in the mind, making statements and evoking a rainbow of emotions. He would be asked what he liked most about his art, his job, and he would simply state, _“permanence.”_

To Sock, there was something breathtaking about how much people trusted him. How they paid for him to ink his art on to their skin, to stay forever until they left the flesh that surrounded them to move on to something else. It was oddly satisfying being able to look over a finished piece, and knowing, just _knowing_ that this is what they wanted, this is what they asked for. They had so much passion for a person or an object or an animal or even just words, that they would make it a part of them. They would let _Sock_ make it a part of them.

Needless to say, Napoleon adored his job. He worked at a small tattoo parlor on a main road, but sadly, they didn’t get much business. Whenever he didn’t have any appointments booked, or walk-in’s paying up front, he would sit by the window overlooking the small alleyway that separated the establishment from the flower shop right next to them. It was a lovely place, pastel colors flowing out from every little spot unblocked by curtains. When Sock opened the window the scent of the flowers filled his head, the combination of his senses always left him tranquil, and he would quite often sketch little designs based upon the flowers they had that day.

Sometimes it was lilies, other times there were roses. Tulips and mums would add on to the whole effect. Personally, Napoleon preferred irises or lilacs but what good would a flower shop be if it only sold one type of flower?

It was a day in late spring when something other than the flowers caught Sock’s emerald eyes. He thought he knew everyone that worked at the little shop, he had spent enough time watching them to memorize faces, learn the way they worked, small things about them that others would always fail to notice, but this boy was…. Different, to say the least. He had messy hair and half lidded eyes, but they were such a nice, stormy shade of blue. The young man wore the provided apron, but he always had purple headphones on while he worked. When he closed up shop for the day, he would slip an oversized grey hoodie over his head.

It was a slow day for Sock, the two appointments that had been made were competed, and now he waited by the window for a walk-in, listening for the familiar chiming of the bells attached to his door. He rested his head against the cool glass, looking to see what the flower shop had in stock that day. More lilies and roses, figures. He wondered if he should actually go in and buy flowers some time. He earned a lot of money off of tattoos based on the sketches of flowers that he did, it kinda felt like stealing. He tilted his head as the young man he saw working there the other day walked in to start his shift.  
Oh, he _definitely_ needed to visit today. Sock glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost his lunch break, he would visit then. For now, he went back to his sketchbook, but didn't find himself drawing flowers or tattoos. He did a little sketch of the man next door's eyes.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sock actually pays for some flowers and stops being a goddamn freeloader

When the face of Napoleon's digital watch read 12:00 he grinned. There was something about his smile that made it so endearingly unique. His teeth were white, and his canines had stayed sharper than average, coming to neat little points and his eyes stayed wide and bright, both of which gave him a slightly unhinged look. Nevertheless, he still fell under the category of adorable. He stood, picking up his purse and slinging it over his shoulder. He flipped a small sign on the door as he exited. "Be back in 25" It read in bubbly purple letters. He started the very short walk to the shop next door, and paused right in front of the door. Sock glanced at the cute wind chimes hung up under the awning, and tugged on one just for the hell of it. He was stalling. Why was he.... Nervous? That was unreasonable. He took a deep breath, finally pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Jonathan Combs loved his job. Despite his very mild allergies that left his nose in a constant state of pink-ness, it felt like the perfect place for him to be. His dad used to love flowers, and they'd spend hours planting them in the garden behind their house. He had come to know many flowers by name and meaning, something he was very proud of. Although he looked like the last person to be a florist, with his slouching shoulders, messy hair, and tired looking eyes, he was probably the best in the city. He had a great mind for the aesthetics of his arrangements, putting colors and sizes together in ways that could only be considered art. He did weddings, funerals, and everything in between.

Things had been a little strange ever since he got his job here. The placement of his shop was comical, to say the least. A flower shop next to a tattoo parlor? Ridiculous. And yet, it was his reality. He would sometimes glance through the window of the shop to see what was going on in there, and there was one worker who caught his eye. A peculiar boy, with silly hair and odd outfits every day. His tattoos were a wide variety of things, and Jonathan found each one to be worth noticing. An odd star pattern on the back of his neck, a knife with a quote he couldn't quite read on his inner forearm. There were others too, but he couldn't really see them all that well. There were what looked like bat wings on his back, and something he only saw the very bottom of on his sternum, that he had caught a glimpse of that one time he wore a crop top. He couldn't see below his waist, but he was sure he had things on his thighs or ankles. Jonathan noticed how he would often stare in to the shop when he wasn't working on anyone, and he would start drawing in his sketchbook. What he wouldn't give to see what he had drawn.

He had slowly found himself growing fond of the boy, despite never meeting him. He seemed happy and energetic, and it was refreshing to see. The bleached-blond was arranging a bouquet for some woman's anniversary when he heard the wind chime outdoors ring, the sound audible through the currently opening door. He looked down at his work, and then up at the door, greeting the assumed customer with a smile. He recognized the face quickly though, and his heart fluttered for a moment. The well known stranger seemed a little anxious for some reason, and Jon wanted to make him feel comfortable. He greeted the artist with a sweet, "Hello, how can I help you?"

"Oh, um, me?" Sock asked, pointing to himself. Shit, was this guy actually talking to him? Was there someone behind him? He swallowed.  
"Yes you, you're the only other person in here." Sock's face flushed in embarrassment, and he buried it in his hands. He took a moment before he thought of a response, a clever one at that. Should he say it? He decided yes.  
"Haha well, pardon me.... It's not every day that I see an angel. I was just a little bit shocked." Sock stated, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. Jonathan's face flushed a little, and he laughed quietly at this bizarre person's antics. He stepped out from behind the white counter, walking over and extending his hand for a shake. "What's your name? I'm Jonathan." Sock took his hand, shaking it. Shit, what would he say for his name? It's so long, and what if he laughed. He was frozen for a minute, handshake lasting far too long, Sock's smile awkward and wide, he looked kinda dead inside.   
"I-I forgot." He finally said, letting go of Jonathan's hand.  
"Well then if you remember, let me know. So then, what are you here for?" Jonathan said as he observed him. Sock was oddly charming, he found the way he got so flustered to be pretty goddamn cute. He was interested to hear what sort of thing he was looking for.  
"Do you have lilacs? A small arrangement of those and irises would be great." Sock prayed he would say yes so that he wouldn't have to think about it too much. He had already made a fool of himself enough already.  
"I'm pretty sure. I'll find those for you then." Sock stood and waited around, shifting his weight from foot to foot until Jonathan came back five minutes later with a small bouquet. He handed it to Sock, who thanked him and paid. He took a deep breath to catch the scent, and closed his eyes. Sock waved on his way out the door, and Jon waved back.

Halfway back to his parlor Sock paused. He took hold of the little card attached to the bouquet to read it, and found something that made him grin wider than he did before. A bunch of numbers scribbled down hastily in blue ink, with the words _"Come back sometime"_ underneath it. Maybe the encounter wasn't as much of a disaster as he originally thought it was.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> goofy nerds texting like nerds. gay, someone arrest them.

“The name’s Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski.” Sock paused after pressing send.  
“But you can call me Sock!” He added. He set his phone down and waited, flopping back on his bed. He wrapped his arms around a large pillow he owned, squeezing it tightly.

It was five minutes later when Sock heard his familiar text alert for his phone, and he scrambled to pick it up and read it.  
“Hi Sock, how are you?” How polite.  
“I’m just dandy. How are you?” God, who the hell still uses the word “dandy”? Sock does, apparently. He was nervous about it for a moment before another message snapped him out of his own head.  
“I’m alright. What are you up to?”  
“Nothing much, talking to you.” Sock smiled a little at the words on his screen. He liked this.  
“So…. What made you interested in tattoos?” Sock paused, thinking of how to explain. He ended up just sending a lengthy paragraph about his own love for it, what art school was like, the people he met, the parts he enjoyed, how his mother had a lot of gorgeous tats and he wanted to be like her, blah blah blah.  
Jonathan took a moment to reply, and it make Sock rather anxious. It was all sorts of hype for nothing, though.  
"Oh, that's really nice, actually. You're really passionate." He smiled at the screen, exhaling quietly.

They talked for quite some time, back and forth with little get to know you things, and of course Sock flirted a bit. He was quite glad when Jonathan flirted back.  
"What's your favorite color, Sock?"  
"Hmm.... Probably your eyes."  
"Oh shut up, that's silly."  
"You betcha!" Sock grinned, but was starting to feel kinda tired. His eyelids felt heavy, vision going blurry. He decided it was time to say goodnight.  
"It's pretty late and I have an appointment around 8:30 tomorrow morning with a tough client. I'll talk to/ possibly see you tomorrow? :^)" He sighed, leaning to plug in his phone to charge.  
"See you then :)" Jonathan sent back. 

Sock squealed and then plopped down on his bed, snuggling up under his mounds of blankets. He pulled one of his many pillows close to his chest, screaming into it like a teenaged girl from some cliché high school movie. He fell asleep a while later, arms holding the pillow tight and close. He didn't have much in the way of dreams, he just ended up seeing flowers and smelling lilacs. It was calm, and pleasant.


End file.
